Illumination
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Was sacrificing 42 Spartans for 33 worth it? Some answers can only be created rather than delivered.


Illumination

Disclaimer: I don't own Halo nor its characters.

**XXXX**

John-117 stared into the blackness of space, just as Mendez had done five minutes earlier. In a sense, it was like looking into a reflection, or at least a symbol of what he was-a vacuum. Drained, hollow and silent, yet alluring, sparking curiosity. It was no wonder that humanity looked to space to gain an understanding of itself just as much as they looked to the world around them.

The stars themselves seemed to reflect individual humans. Every one of them; illuminated over a small period of time, eyes of sentient creatures gazing up at it in awe. But in the long shot, this was irrelevant. It would fade and disappear forever, becoming a memory and then becoming nothing.

Such stars reflected the Spartans.

Thirty Spartans had faded, having disappeared from his sight. Their bodies had been cast among the stars themselves, to be kept illuminated by the glow of bodies of gas converting hydrogen into helium. Like the stars, they too would fade, albeit sooner. The cool down of the universe would come later, a time of eternal stygian night. Such a time was billions of years away but to John, it felt like it had arrived early.

If the Spartans were stars, they were binary ones. And John felt like he'd lost his orbit.

Twelve Spartans still contained their own luminosity, albeit it was diminished. Fhajad, Kirk, Rene… Still, they too would fade in time. You could only go so far when you were suspended in a neural buoyancy tank, your bone structure twisted beyond all recognition.

So only thirty-three Spartans remained, free to shine until death took them, whether it be due to time or by some by-product of humanity's need to find more efficient methods of destroying itself. John mostly wished that it was the later, although the morbid circumstances had been left at the station, not boarding his train of thought. He'd do what he had to do. There was nothing else to consider.

At least, that used to be the case. For the first time in recent memory, John was feeling doubt as to the purpose of it all. Kind of funny really-after all, the Spartan program had given him a purpose in life yet here he was doubting it. Shouldn't he be grateful? Under normal circumstances he would be but after losing forty-two of the seventy-five Spartans to the rigours of augmentation, he wasn't so sure. The final words of the conversation he'd had with Mendez repeated constantly in his mind;

"_It is acceptable," Mendez said, "to spend their lives if necessary." He finally turned and met John's gaze. "It is not acceptable, however, to waste those lives. Do you understand the difference?"_

"_I…believe I understand, sir," John said. "But which was it on this last mission? Lives spent? Or lives wasted?"_

Mendez had refused to answer, instead turning towards the blackness of space and walking off soon after. The most important fact was that he'd failed to answer his question and despite having gone over the dilemma for the last five minutes, John had failed to come up with an answer.

Lives spent? Or lives wasted?

His inability to answer the question disturbed him. Throughout his life, he'd come to believe that there was always an answer to any problem that he encountered. Such a fact was evident in the numerous training sessions that he and his team had been through. If an enemy sniper was pinning them down, Linda would be used to show her superior skill. If they needed a 'rabbit' Kelly would always be the first choice. If an enemy had to be taken out in close quarters, Fred was his man.

The classroom was no different. If Deja asked him the molecular weight of oxygen he would have answered it as sixteen grams. If asked to translate a Latin phrase such as _Memento Mori_ he would have answered it as "Remember you will die."

"Remember you will die"-how morbidly appropriate given the circumstances.

Every question and problem had an answer. So why couldn't he work out the answer to this one? Why couldn't he-

John's train of thought hit the answer roadblock. He smiled faintly at his perceived stupidity, as he'd been approaching the question in completely the wrong fashion.

The answer to the question would have to wait. Such an answer could not be uttered. It had to be created. It is our actions that distinguish us. Was sacrificing forty-four Spartans for thirty-three worth it? Only the actions of those thirty-three Spartans could answer that question. An answer could only be given after their deeds were finished, after they'd become like the faded stars of night. Only then, when all they'd done was tallied, could an answer be given.

John knew that he might have to wait decades to find the answer, but it didn't' bother him. He'd realised the nature of human existence, why humanity had always looked to the night sky.

It is not the answer of our existence that drives forward.

It's the question.


End file.
